


To Survive

by Libstar



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 11:16:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8487262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Libstar/pseuds/Libstar
Summary: Bernie has been struggling with her PTSD, she's just been lucky that it has never happened while she has been at the hospital and she has been hiding it from Serena, that was only going to work for so long.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I fell headlong into the Berena fandom and I can't get out, it was only a matter of time before I started writing fic!

In the deep recesses of her mind she knows she's safe, knows she is in her office where there very much aren't any militants firing weapons or IEDs waiting to blow their convoy to pieces. She knows it, yet at the same time, she doesn't. Her rational mind has been long over ruled by the anxiety, the fear and behind her eyelids, squeezed tight shut, a whole mess of images play out with their own hideous soundtrack, flying bullets, brick, twisted metal, limbs; her mind believes so much that she's there that she can even smell the burning rubber, the burning flesh.

  
She's already emptied the content of her stomach into the waste bin at her feet so all she can do is sit, eyes closed, forehead practically on her knees and hands with fistfuls of hair, and hope that this will pass soon, that it will stop before someone, before Serena, catches her like this.

  
She doesn’t know what triggered this particular flashback which isn’t common but its not uncommon either. She tends to think its almost a 50/50 split, sometimes she can see the trigger coming but can’t do anything about it, can’t stop what it brings and other times it hits her like a tonne of bricks and even after the fact she can’t put her finger on what it was, or sometimes who it was, that started the ball rolling. She supposes she should be pleased that this is the first time it has happened at work, that it started as she was heading for her office anyway and not when she was in the middle of surgery and she will be, just as soon as she can persuade herself that she is safe, that opening her eyes wont reveal that she is in fact back in the place which she fears the most.

  
It’s the most frustrating part, the knowing that its not real but still being powerless to stop the feeling, the little voice in the back of her head telling her that she’s fine, that she can relax, when her eyes and nose are burning with imagined smoke, when her heart feels like it is trying to hammer its way out of her chest, when the rest of her consciousness is battering her with images, sounds, of the life she left behind. Its that frustration that leads her to knock her head repeatedly against her desk in an action which quiets the voice and grounds her a little, though not enough.

  
She’s so far out of reality, so far into the world her mind has created that she doesn’t hear the door to the office open and then close behind her. The gentle hand on her back makes her flinch, physical contact the very last thing she wants when she’s stuck in this hell. She’s minutely aware of whoever it is, probably Serena dammit, pulling a chair up beside her and sitting down and is pleased when they realise that she doesn’t want to be touched, but whatever they are saying is only noise, added to all of the noise going around in her head and she can’t make out the words.

  
She wants to tell them, Serena (because through the imagined smell of smoke she can smell her perfume) that she’s ok, that she’s better off on her own, that she isn’t going to do anything stupid but she loses that ability when she gets like this too and for that reason she strikes her head against the desk, once, twice, three times, until Serena’s voice finally breaks through the dark.

  
“Major Wolfe!” she barks and although it doesn’t stop any of the feelings Bernie feels the soldier in her react minutely, “Push your chair away from the desk for me, that’s right.” It takes long minutes but she feels her body give her enough that she moves away from her desk, away from the temptation to hurt herself and her head falls all the way forward, the hair that is not being gripped in her hands falling forwards to cover her face.

  
“There’s a note pad on the desk if you’d feel better writing it down.” Serena says lightly and Bernie wants to cry about how it is the most perfect thing the brunette could say but she can’t even do that in that moment. Instead she keeps her eyes screwed shut and tries to breathe, tries to slowly release the tension in her hands, tries to tell herself more and more firmly that she is in Holby City Hospital, in the office she shares with Serena Campbell, that Serena is right there beside her and that they are both perfectly safe. She has no idea how long it takes until she starts to feel even slightly in control again. It could have been mere minutes but it feels like hours before she feels her hands loosen in her hair completely, sees one of them reach blindly for the notepad. Once it is in her hand she scribbles quickly, her already messy doctors scrawl made worse by the tremor which isn’t just in her hand but throughout her whole body. When she’s done she slides the paper back onto the desk and towards where she knows Serena is sitting, she wants the brunette to know what’s going on even if she can’t vocalise it yet, her hand returns to her hair but it’s grip remains relaxed and she focuses on continuing to breathe in and out, exhale the smoke, inhale Serena’s perfume.

  
The other woman reads quietly but Bernie is aware of her shifting the chair closer after a few minutes and it takes everything in her not to flinch away again. Serena wont hurt her and while she knows that it is difficult to overcome years of learned behaviours. She can feel the woman’s warmth, almost but not quite touching her shoulder and she allows it to soother her further, feels the knots which have made up the whole of her body start to loosen inch by inch.

  
“You’re safe darling, I’m not going anywhere ok.” She nods lightly, still unable to speak but needing Serena to know that she has heard, that she has understood. Everything is receding now, the harsh florescent lights of the hospital beginning to cut back into her vision, the sound of the ward, of Serena breathing beside her, cutting across the horror. Before she really consciously decides to do so her hand has reached out for Serena and the other woman’s fingers are pressed between hers, the brunettes thumb stroking over her knuckles grounding her further.

  
When she finally opens her eyes and lifts her head she avoids looking at Serena, her eyes instead landing on the note pad, her scribbled PTSD and can’t make it stop taunting her until she screws her eyes shut, turns her head away. She hears movement from her right and when she forces her eyes open again, looks back at the desk, the pad is gone and she squeezes the hand in hers in thanks. No one has ever been able to understand her like Serena does and she finds herself wondering why she ever thought the brunette would shy away from this, would think any less of her because of it. If she’s learnt anything by now its that Serena loves her, scars, flaws and all and she vows to herself in that moment to start believing in that connection the way that she always hopes Serena believes in her. When she turns to finally meet her eyes she sees no pity looking back at her, only concern and the ever present love that Serena can’t even hide when they are fighting.

  
“Ok?” she asks and Bernie nods, coughs to clear her throat and leans into the woman beside her,

  
“I will be,” she whispers and she knows it is true, she will be ok because she has Serena by her side, in her corner and even the worst memories can’t overthrow that feeling of finally belonging. They sit in silence only broken by the noise of the ward and Bernie continues to breath deeply, focusing on the hand in hers, the solid body beside her and Serena’s own breathing. She can feel the headache beginning to build behind her eyes, always the same after one of her ‘episodes’ as she has come to refer to them, a mixture of the adrenaline and tension in her body and her hitting her head on whatever solid surface she can find. It isn’t until she shifts in her seat so she can be closer to the other woman that she remembers the scalpel which had been sat in her lap as it hits the ground with a dull thud and crinkle of the wrapper which still contains it.

  
“I didn’t. I wasn’t...” she trails off, not needing to see Serena’s face to know that there will be another emotion present when she spots what she had been holding, “it helps me feel safe.” She manages in a whisper and Serena squeezes her hand again, presses a kiss to her head this time.

  
“It’s ok, I understand.” She’s not sure that Serena can possibly understand and she doesn’t want her too because she wouldn’t wish the darkness she carries with her on anyone but she appreciates the sentiment, the fact that the brunette doesn’t push. She knows there will be questions later but she knows that Serena wont ask them until she has had the time to fully recover and they will come from a place of wanting to understand how she can help not out of a desire to be nosey. “Shift finished an hour ago, you up to moving so I can take you home?”

  
“Will you stay with me, or actually, can we go to yours? I just need...”

  
“To feel safe, I know and we can go wherever you feel best, Justin isn’t back till tomorrow.” She didn’t mind her apartment, not really, but when compared with Serena’s home there was no real competition, even if Jason had been home. “I’m going to get our things together ok? I’m not going far.” She nods against the brunettes arm, gives it a gentle squeeze and appreciates the kiss pressed to her hair before she shifts so that Serena can move. She scrubs at her face while she listens to Serena moving around their shared space and forces herself to take stock of her own body. Her head aches, understandable between the abuse she has given it and the high tension of the last hour was it, or maybe two? Her palms hurt where her nails have dug into them and she knows that her back will protest later but in the grand scheme of things she’s ok, she has survived.

  
“Ready?” Serena asks and she leans into the hand which smoothes across her shoulder, rubs at the nape of her neck. She isn’t sure what she has done to deserve this woman’s understanding, her love, but she knows in that moment that she isn’t going to run from it any longer. Serena has seen the worst parts of her, her scars physical and otherwise, and she has stayed and Bernie is sure, that no matter how much better, or worse, things get for her she will always have the brunette in her corner, she will always survive.


End file.
